


As fate would have it

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Guilt, Second Chances, maybe next time, sorry no sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 14:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: The day before he's set to arrive at the Winter Palace for the Exalted Council, Thom finds a very familiar flower while searching for kindling in the woods, and with the memory it brings, he contemplates his relationship with Jocelynn Trevelyan, where they've been, and where they are.





	As fate would have it

Thom paused, bundle of kindling in hand, as he saw a small patch of flowers. Just the sight of the white blossoms trimmed in pink brought back memories, unbidden, and he stood there for a moment as he allowed it to wash over him.

It was shortly after he had finally pushed past the issues he'd had with a potential relationship with Jocelynn, after she'd finally made it loud and clear that she wanted him and damn the consequences. He still berated himself for giving in, for being weak. A woman like her, she deserved so much more. She thought she was getting an honourable man, but that was only what he allowed to be seen on the surface. Underneath, no matter what he did, he still felt like the same man who massacred a man's family for gold. Sure, he hadn't been told it would be the whole family travelling, but then again he hadn't asked, hadn't clarified. If he had, if he'd had at least some sort of semblance to think beyond the gold that was offered ...

Well, no use in maybes and what ifs. The past was the past and he did what he could to make up for it. And truth be told, he didn't feel like he deserved the happiness he felt being around the Inquisitor. He wished that she didn't feel the same way, that she saw him only as a friend and didn't want to pursue him. But the Marcher rogue was far too stubborn for her own good, and as much as he pushed, she pushed right back until he finally broke. He wasn't proud of that, but she was happy, and he found that at least for the moment, that was enough to assuage the worst of the guilt.

It was when he was doing some hunting outside of Skyhold when he'd come across a small patch of the flowers, hanging on despite the weather that should have killed them off. A stark reminder of the beauty that was in the world, should one just take the time to notice. It reminded him so strongly of Joss that he didn't think twice as he'd knelt and plucked one of the blossoms. As he'd approached her later and gave it to her, the smile that lit up her face was perhaps one of the most beautiful things he'd seen in his life, paling even the flower that he'd just handed to her. The kiss that she gave him in return for it was so sweet, so tender, he felt that she'd given him something of far higher value.

Back in the present, a small smile started to tug at the edges of his lips, and he bent over to snag one of the flowers. It seemed fitting, somehow, to give it to her again. The first time he'd gifted it to her, there was a bittersweet edge to it for him. The knowledge that he was lying, that he wasn't who he said he was. At the time, he'd thought he could withstand it, could work past it and live with it. Hell, maybe it was a part of his penance, or so he'd told himself. But no, he was just a selfish man, and the more he saw Joss fall in love with a man that didn't even exist, the more it twisted the knife in his chest. He wanted to be that man, he really did. But he couldn't be, couldn't change fast enough, couldn't make up for all the sins that he was drowning in.

For all the lies and all the baggage that came with their relationship – all on his side – it was truly something special. For as sweet and as honourable as she was, Jocelynn Trevelyan was a cheeky thing. She'd flirted with him almost immediately upon meeting him, though the very first time he'd thought was either a fluke or that he misunderstood her. Really, it could have been interpreted either way, and he didn't like to read into something that might not be there. Later on, however, after he'd moved into Haven, she made her advances quite clear, causing even him to blush slightly at the suggestion that he should join her in her private quarters. He had coughed and cleared his throat and stuttered as he deflected, but Maker bless her, she didn't give up. She never gave up, no matter what the situation was, it just wasn't in her nature to quit.

For that, he would always be eternally grateful, for one instance in particular.

The battle at Haven was harrowing, to put it mildly. Red Templars swarming, all at various stages of infection. The Inquisition soldiers fought off the early waves as best they could, and Jocelynn was out there with her team as well, a team that consisted of The Iron Bull, Dorian, and himself. They'd run the Red Templars off of one trebuchet and retaken another, sending an avalanche down on Corypheus' forces. But his dragon swooped in and started laying waste, and they'd been forced to retreat. It was in the Chantry that their desperate plan was hatched, and so while Cullen and Leliana and Cassandra lead everyone else through the little known summer path with Chancellor's Roderick's knowledge, Jocelynn and her team headed out to claim the last remaining trebuchet so it could be turned and shot at the closest mountain. The resulting effect would bury Haven, but if it gave the rest of the Inquisition a chance to escape, a chance that had to be taken, as risky as it was.

He honestly had not even been sure he would make it, so when they defeated the last of the waves and Joss got the trebuchet turned around, he was somehow surprised it had so far gone off without a hitch. Well, for the most part. That behemoth was completely unexpected, but with Dorian throwing up barriers for them, both he and The Iron Bull had been able to take it down while Jocelynn took care of the rest of the enemies that tried to flood the area. He'd gotten scared several times, whipping around as he realised he couldn't see her, only for her to suddenly reappear and stab a Red Templar in the back. Maker's balls, but the relief that would course through him was immense. Even though her little disappearing act would make his heart stop every time, watching her in action was amazing. To see her glide and slip around enemies, daggers slashing and stabbing, poison dripping ... he'd seen less graceful movements from professional dancers in Orlais. But Jocelynn Trevelyan was no dancer. She was dangerous. And as much as he was reluctant to admit it at the time, it only made her more attractive to him.

Once the trebuchet was set, Joss turned to her team and made them promise to catch up to everyone else, to protect the flank from any of Corypheus' forces that might get through. At the time, in the heat of the moment, they'd all promised immediately. If he'd had a chance to stop and think, he might have refused, might have stayed by her side. Because seemingly as soon as they turned to run back to the Chantry, that was when Corypheus had chosen to make his entrance, sending his dragon just ahead of him to carve a path of tainted fire before he emerged to confront the Herald of Andraste.

His chest had clenched painfully as he'd looked back, seeing the ancient and powerful Darkspawn closing in on her. He didn't know what he was planning on doing to her, didn't know if he might succeed or not, and he might have run back for her if The Iron Bull hadn't grabbed him by the shoulder and reminded him, "We have to cover the Inquisition's flank. We promised, remember?"

And Blackwall didn't break a promise. The old Thom Ranier might. But Blackwall didn't. And that's who he was now, so that's what he had to do. So with a great reluctance, he'd turned and joined Dorian and The Bull as they'd run at top speed through the Chantry, accessing the old path out the back that would take them to the rest of the evacuating organisation. They had just made it through and was starting to make their way up the mountain path when a sudden rumbling thunder started to grow. They'd all turned to see what looked like half a mountain bearing down on Haven. He remembered thinking that she did it, that she'd gotten to fire the trebuchet, but with how quickly the avalanche was coming – to say nothing of the cursed creature who nigh had her in his grasp – was there any hope for her to escape, herself?

Ay, that was the real question. One that he was too afraid to try to answer.

The next hours moved painfully slow for him. Their small group had managed to catch up to the main party, but the disheartened expressions on Cullen and Cassandra's faces spoke volumes. Despite the odds, they'd expected all of them to return, and Blackwall added that extra weight of guilt to his load. What was one more thing to regret, after all? Yet this one, somehow, seemed more painful than much of what he already carried. There was a small, almost completely insignificant part of him that held out hope that Joss could have made it out, could have dodged Corypheus and slipped past both him and the dragon and escaped before the mountain came crashing down on Haven. But as the minutes turned into hours, stretching on and on, his heart fell more and more. As much as he wanted to see her emerge from the disaster, he told himself to give it up, to come to terms with the fact that she was gone.

Gone. It had made him feel sick just to think it, just to consider it. It felt like a stone sitting in his gut, sinking further with the more time that passed. He still occasionally flicked his gaze toward the path behind him, a part of him knowing he wouldn't give up until her body was retrieved and laid to rest, but he struggled to at least come to terms with the fact that her light was gone from this world. That never again would he see her, hear her voice, her laughter, watch her whirl around her enemies in battle. Her brilliance was forever extinguished, and that flickering flame of an attraction would forever go unfulfilled. Perhaps that part was for the best for him, but he didn't like that it meant the world would be robbed of her presence. He would have rather had her back and had to suffer through nursing these feelings along until he could get over them, discard them. He didn't deserve her, after all, didn't deserve to have that goodness directed at him. But he would have gladly borne that burden, too, if it meant she still lived. Losing her was far too high a price to pay, one that he hadn't wanted to, but one he was forced to.

Or so he thought.

While he was talking to Cullen, he happened to catch a glimpse of a shadow rounding the corner. His hand initially went to his sword to preemptively draw it in defence, but it only took a moment for the figure to stumble into view, and instead of a Red Templar, it was her. Jocelynn. Somehow, against all odds, she had survived the avalanche that had buried Haven and hiked all the way to the Inquisition encampment with no warm cloak or potions or drink or anything that would have made the journey any easier. In the split-second that it took for him to recognise who it was, a thousand different emotions ran through him, ranging from shock to relief to a warm, tingling one that he made it his business not to focus on. It felt like a weight had lifted as he heard Cullen shout to alert the others, as he himself ran to make it to her side.

She had not escaped completely unscathed, however, and between the battle and the confrontation with Corypheus and the avalanche and the wearying hike, she was exhausted. As if it didn't show enough in the way that her shoulders sagged and her feet tripped her up, she collapsed as she made it to the outside perimeter of the camp. Sinking to her knees, she just couldn't go on, but that was alright. She'd gotten herself that far, he could make sure she'd get the rest of the way. She whimpered and winced as he picked her up, undoubtedly aggravating sore spots and injuries as he picked her up. "Shh, it's alright," he'd whispered to her. "It's just me. I've got you." Whether she heard him or not, he didn't know for sure, but she didn't make another sound as he descended into the small valley that the Inquisition had fashioned into a temporary camp. While he still worried as he handed her off to a healer and Mother Giselle, just physically seeing her, knowing that she was here, knowing that she was safe ... it was enough.

And then, after she'd rested and recuperated, as she rose from the bedroll and reentered the camp, one of the most amazing things happened that he'd ever seen before in his life.

Everyone started singing.

At first, it was just Mother Giselle. But then Leliana and a few of her agents started, and then Cullen and some of his men, until everyone in the camp was singing a Chantry hymn, one full of hope. And they were singing it to her as they gathered around the tent, some of them kneeling as she stood there.

Their Herald. Their Saviour. Not uninjured, but unshaken, and despite the display of faith, still humble and blushing as if she didn't think herself worthy of such an honour. And that was when he knew ... he knew he would follow her to the ends of the earth.

As he trudged through the forest, both kindling and flower in hand, he mused on that sentiment. In one of their conversations at Skyhold, he'd relayed to her the wisdom that had been imparted to him by the chevalier, that you were who you followed. He'd spent years following lesser men and all for nought. This time, however, he knew he'd finally gotten it right, finally chosen wisely. Come hell or high water, he would stand by the Inquisitor's side and defend her. At the time he’d determined that, however, he couldn't help but wonder ... would she have done the same? He hadn't even dared to hope. Hope was a dangerous thing. It could motivate an entire army to unite under a single banner, much as they did for Jocelynn. But it could also dangle what you wanted most in front of your face before it snatched it away. He wasn't afraid of much, but he could admit when he was bested, and when faced with the prospect of wooing and then losing Joss ... he'd thought it wiser to leave them as friends rather than gamble as lose it all. What was that saying ... the house always wins?

At first he'd tried to belay her advances, to redirect her affections to a more appropriate target. She would not be swayed, however, and the more he resisted the more she dug into his heart until he could no longer deny it. He gave her plenty of chances to say no, to stop, but she never did. And their relationship ran hot and passionate, though at times he thought he might drown for its depth. Eventually, though, the lies and the guilt caught up to him. If he hadn't been with Joss, perhaps he could have kept up the ruse even longer. But it was breaking his heart to see her love an idea, a concept, something that he really wasn't. He felt stuck, however, because what reason could he give her for breaking it off? There was nothing, not unless he wanted to divulge the truth, and he felt he'd rather fall on his own sword than see the disappointment in her eyes. And so he kept it up for a time, even though every touch, every glance felt like a hot knife carving through him, knowing that those gestures were meant for another man, a Blackwall that didn't exist.

When word came through of Cyril Mornay's impending execution, it was the perfect set of circumstances falling into his lap. Though it hurt to do it, he had to. It was only right. Perhaps in owning up to his past crime he could then find the peace he'd so desperately sought. He'd taken Joss for a drink, made love to her one last time, and then left, leaving nought but a letter for her to find. It was shitty of him to do, but he could think of no other course to take. The guilt was eating him alive and he couldn't allow Jocelynn to further cement herself in his heart, nor he in hers. He hoped she would hate him, that she would curse him and rail against him. She had good friends who could support her, he wasn't worried about that. Besides, she had already proven herself to be quite the survivor. Even though he had to be the bad guy, he was content with this course of action. It was all poetic, in a way, and it served the mission he'd been on since the real Blackwall had recruited him. Sacrifice, giving up one's wants for duty. Hadn't he said he valued that? Well, here was his chance to prove it.

He just hadn't counted on Jocelynn following him.

Maker's balls, but she was damn stubborn, and not always in a good way. As he announced to the crowd who he was, claiming responsibility for his own crime, his eyes had landed on her face, half-hidden by a cloak. His heart had sank, but he couldn't back down, couldn't stop. No, this was his fate, and he deserved it. And apparently he deserved more, deserved to see his love see him for what he was before he died. He didn't think he could get any lower than that, not until she visited him in his cell and he admitted to her face what he'd done. It broke him, and it broke him even further to see the look of pity on her face. And then she'd left and he figured he'd be dead soon enough. He could hold out with this hurt, bear it the same way he'd been bearing his guilt.

Of course, Jocelynn had other plans, and in the middle of the night he was snatched from his cell and taken back to Skyhold. He'd wondered for what, but it became painfully clear that she intended to judge him herself. Maker, but he'd never felt as humiliated in his entire life, standing there as she sat on the Inquisition throne. Despite everything, though, despite his crime and his lies and the way that he left her, she forgave him. Not only forgave him, but set him free, to earn his penance by serving the Inquisition. And, impossibly, she stayed with him, wanting him even after she knew the truth.

Truly, he didn't deserve her. But he was damn sure going to work to make himself worthy of her.

It had been two years since Corypheus' defeat. He'd tracked down the rest of his company, offering not only his apologies but his help in order to make things right. Reparations for the permanent damage he'd caused. Despite how much he'd needed to do this, however, he'd missed Joss, missed her terribly. But he was just half a day's journey away from Halamshiral, and she was due to arrive the day after he did. After all the waiting he'd done in his life, he could wait a little longer. And so he set the kindling down, preserving the flower first before he made a fire for himself to cook some dinner before he bedded down for the night.

The next day, at the Winter Palace, he threw daggers at a target, waiting for her. She was overdue, though with the retinue she travelled with, it was no real surprise for him. Soon enough, she rounded the corner, and he didn't even bother to try to contain the smile as he swept her up in his arms and gave her a kiss. He gave her a rundown on everything he'd been doing, at her request, and as they sat on the bench, he pulled out his pack and the small book that he'd used to press the flower with. "I have something for you," he told her.

"Oh?"

Opening the book to the place where he'd put it, he drew out the pressed flower and asked her, "Remember this?"

A look a surprise and awe swept over her face as she took it from his hands. Grinning, she commented, "I do. You gave me one like this at Skyhold." Glancing at him, she added, cheekily, "Last time, however, you weren't wearing a shirt."

He rolled his eyes. "I'd been chopping logs waiting for you and it was hot."

"Oh I'm not complaining," she assured. "Not in the slightest. In fact ..." her fingers brushed against his thigh, "... we have some time before the Exalted Council starts ..."

He chuckled. "Always eager to get me in bed, are you?"

"I don't hear you protesting," she countered.

Pressing his lips against hers, he drew back only long enough to tell her, "And I never will."

She beamed with a smile that melted him from the inside as she murmured, "Let's go find my room."

Nodding, he rose to follow her, saying only one thing.

"As you wish."


End file.
